


Tale from a Fever

by macabre



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, Illnesses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-12
Updated: 2011-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-08 12:33:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macabre/pseuds/macabre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is sick, but he is surprised to find his friend such a capable nurse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tale from a Fever

Charles is smirking at him, despite the telepath’s ridiculously flushed face and shaking body. Erik refuses to ask him what he finds amusing, which is okay, because Charles tends to say exactly what he’s thinking to compensate for the misguided one-way communication that sometimes happens between the two of them.

“You’re a complete mother hen!” Charles teases him, curled half on his side facing Erik. His face is pensive for a moment, then he shifts over cautiously a few more inches until he’s pressed into Erik’s side. “I would have never dreamt it.”

Frowning, Erik wants to pull away from Charles panting breaths and invading sentiments. Then his sick friend sniffles, turns his head and releases a bed-shaking squeeze. He decides to stay put when he sees Charles’ miserable features face him again. He winces and chuckles at the same time as his bedfellow puts his head on his chest.

“You’re going to keep pushing your luck, aren’t you?” Charles is still breathing noisily out of his mouth, but his smile is incessant. Now that he’s pressed against his body, Erik frowns at how warm Charles feels. The shivering is barely visible, but Erik can feel the slowly rolling muscle spasms all down his side.

“Open your mouth,” Erik nudges Charles’ lips with a thermometer. Charles sighs, eyes still closed.

“I’m fine,” he mumbles. “I’ll be fine.”

“Open your mouth.” Charles relents, but the way he sticks his tongue out around the thermometer almost makes Erik regret it, the heat burrowing down in his chest. He should not find Charles attractive at the moment.

“103. Charles, that’s not-” Good, is what he wants to say, but what he realizes is that _he’s_ no good. No good at taking care of people, of worrying about people, simply because he’s never had to before. All there was to think about was himself, and he never did take very good care of himself.

But when he thinks of 103 degrees, Erik panics a little bit. He knows that’s high for a fever, but is it too high? Should he get someone? Hank, maybe? Erik has never felt so useless before.

_I’ll be fine, Erik. And you’re a wonderful nursemaid._

Erik huffs in his automatic response to Charles replying to thoughts he never meant to voice, but he’s still thinking about things he should be doing for his friend. Making him tea, or soup, or fetching a cold rag for his head – things he knows others do for the sick.

Charles flops over so he’s lying entirely on top of Erik. Eyes still closed, he mocks a snore and actually has the tenacity to make a show of snuggling down into his friend’s chest. Erik can feel him chuckling, the movement rocking him against his ribs. He tries to make himself relax, but this is the most intimate Erik has ever been. With anyone. Charles must hear him think this, because he stops laughing, or grinning. He stays where he is though, always refusing Erik the easy way out.

So Erik takes the plunge. Running one hand through Charles’ messy, damp hair, Erik sets to comforting the only person he’s had feelings for since his parents were murdered. He takes his other hand and rubs his friend’s back, already getting warm under the excess body heat.

When the breathing reverts back to the atrociously wet noise it was before, Erik knows Charles is dozing. Even when the heat and the weight get to be uncomfortable, Erik refuses to move him. The sun has long since risen and he can hear the kids outside in the halls; any of them are liable to walk in on them looking for Charles, so Erik pushes the locks shut on the doors with a _click_.

Not long after Charles wakes. His body shivers gently still, and when he turns his head to rest his chin along Erik’s sternum, his eyes are still fever-glazed, making them look even bluer than normal. Erik’s mouth is dry.

“You’re still here.”

“Yes. I’m still here.” Because it’s at the moment, looking at Charles just that way, that Erik’s mind leaps to those bold words that people long to hear. Words he had forgotten.

Charles smiles; Erik hopes he didn’t hear his thoughts just then. He pushes the sentiment down so quickly he mentally feels dizzy. His thoughts have gone soft, and all he sees is Charles. Charles and what he could have with Charles. Charles, who is slowly rolling away from him. The lack of his body makes Erik cold and useless again.

A thunderous sneeze and a groan. Charles leans over the side of the bed, feet poised on the floor.

“I need to get up. We have work to do.” He wobbles miserably as he makes for his dresser.

Erik feels just as wobbly when he stands. He’s glad Charles has his back to him as he covers the space between them, and covers Charles’ back. “Not today, we don’t. You’re staying in bed. With me. Leave the kids to MacTaggert.”

One doesn’t need to be a telepath to know what the C.I.A. woman wants from his friend, so he relishes the excuse to keep Charles to himself for the day. Still, he expects him to protest the bed rest, but Charles surprises him instead by leaning back into Erik further. He’s looking at the door though, looking past it probably, to see what the others are doing.

“I could make you stay,” Erik says. Plenty of metal around to do the job.

Charles laughs, facing him. His skin is still quite pink and his hair is a mess, lines across his cheek from Erik’s own shirt. He wants to touch them, to be the one smoothing over the imperfections.

“And I could make you let me go, my friend.”

Erik feels no shame in admitting. “You could make me do a lot of things.”

 


End file.
